


drunk enough to say i love you

by bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Light Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: Lyanna gets lost in the 'what might have been's at her brother's wedding and can't stop thinking about the one that got away.ASOIAFRarePairs Week Day Two - "Tell me this when you're sober."





	drunk enough to say i love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayuminb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/gifts).



> For [asoiafrarepairs week](https://asoiafrarepairs.tumblr.com) and it also fills [this prompt](https://asoiafrarepairs.tumblr.com/post/173480002057/robert-x-lyanna-it-s-my-brother-s-wedding-and) there too

Lyanna was proud to stand up and support her oldest friend and her little brother as they vowed to spend the rest of their lives together, despite the freezing cold. Only Dacey and Benjen would ever think to have their wedding outdoors in late November, with a very likely chance of a blizzard interrupting the middle of the ceremony. It was beautiful, she had to admit, in spite of the fact that she could hardly feel her fingers, but Lya couldn’t help but picture what she would’ve done differently, if she’d been the bride. First of all, she wouldn’t have held the ceremony outdoors, unless perhaps she married in the summer… It could be nice to rent out space in one of those old castles, something romantic but almost haunted. And, though the dress was gorgeous and flattered Dacey’s figure, Lyanna would want her dress to be shorter, less of a gown, something she could dance in without fear of tripping over the thing. And her husband. Well, the plaid vest Benjen was wearing was an absolute no. Her groom would wear a dark tuxedo, classic and timeless. His dark hair would be slicked back, but not greasy, and his electric blue eyes–

There, she stops herself. Because it’s not just _her_ wedding she’s picturing, but hers and Robert’s and that’s… that’s a painful line of thought. She thought she was over him, it’d been, what, almost two years since they broke up? She hardly even thought about him all that much anymore. What is it about stupid weddings that stir up old emotions? Just because Robert proposed, that doesn’t mean– it doesn’t mean anything, other than she’s bound to think of him around weddings.

Pushing away those intrusive thoughts, Lyanna forces her attention back on the bride and groom. They wrote their own vows, which could easily be cheesy, except Dacey has always had something of a poet’s soul and Benjen was too straightforward to be anything other than sincere. After that, they moved on to the exchange of rings and then it ends with a kiss. Benjen and Dacey are both beaming when they separate and it seems as if the cold is finally getting to them too, because rather than an orderly procession, the newlyweds take each others hand and sprint down the aisle to where they have an actual horse-drawn carriage waiting to take them to the reception, which _thankfully_ would be held inside, in an old barn that had been converted to an event hall.

And more important than the warmth - okay, perhaps second only to the warmth - was that at the reception, there was alcohol. Not that Lyanna was ever really prone to indulgence, but it was a special occasion after all. How often does she get to drink imported champagne? So she allows herself to have a glass or two more than she would normally, just enough so that she’s on the right side of tipsy, when everything seems to soften just a bit. In this generous mood, she even allows one of the groomsmen to dance with her. She doesn’t remember his name just now, one of Ben’s coworkers from The Wall, but it doesn’t matter, because as soon as she closes her eyes, it’s someone else she’s picturing, someone a bit taller, broader, someone _familiar_ . She doesn’t _want_ to think about him, but damn it, somehow he’s stuck in her mind and she can’t get him out and right now… she’s not putting up much of a fight. Perhaps that’s a sign that she should take it a bit easy, however the next time someone offers her a flute of champagne, she doesn’t say no.

She takes her glass and takes a seat along the wall. Her feet are starting to hurt from the stupid high heels and this strapless bra is digging into her skin and stupid, stupid Robert won’t get out of her head and that just taints this whole evening. She’s finding it hard to be happy for her baby brother and for that, she hates Robert. She hates that she’s the only single one left of her siblings, even _Brandon_ managed to bring a date to the wedding. It’s not being single that bothers her, because she’s fine on her own, really. But, gods, why does everyone have to look at her like she should be upset about that? If Dacey weren’t the bride, Lyanna would’ve smacked her for suggesting that she’ll toss the bouquet her way on purpose. And Grandma Arya… She loves that sweet old woman, but this conversation is the very last thing she needs right now.

“They sure are a couple of cuties, aren’t they?” She asks, taking a seat beside Lya. “Bet you anything they’ll have a bunch of babies in no time.”

“I don’t think they’re planning on having kids right now, Gran.” In fact, she knew they weren’t. Once the wedding was over and done with, they planned on traveling the world, taking odd jobs to support themselves, gathering memories and experiences. “But Ned and Catelyn are going to have a baby soon, see?” Lyanna directs her grandmother’s attention to where Ned and Cat are dancing on the floor. Cat is only in her second trimester, but on her small frame, her bump is already quite noticeable.

“Feh.” She waves her hand in dismissal. “Silly southron girl. I give it a year before she moves Ned down south somewhere and of course, he won’t come back to visit his old grandmother. I want to know my great-grandbabies before I die.”

“They are not moving anywhere, Gran.”

“What about you, darling? Where is that handsome beau of yours tonight?”

“What beau? I don’t have a beau right now.”

“Yes, you do. The tall one, with the good arms. He is quite the looker.”

“Robert? Robert’s not– We’re not together anymore, remember?” She’d had this same conversation last year when Robert had failed to show up at the Stark house for the holidays, and it hadn’t been any more fun then. Ben had just announced his engagement to Dacey, and that had already soured her mood, which she acknowledged was an entirely selfish emotion, it’s just that stupid Robert couldn’t just– But she could suppress that enough to be happy for her brother up until the point when the grandparents started prodding her about her love life. “I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“Hmph, pity. He was a catch, that one. A shame you let him slip away.”

“I didn’t let him–” Lya practically shouts. If Mom where nearby to hear her, she would surely get a scolding for being disrespectful to her grandmother, but fuck it, she was _this_ close to drunk and not particularly in the mood to hear why she should’ve held on harder to a person she intentionally released.

“No matter, Lyanna. You’re pretty enough, when you try to be. I’m sure you’ll snag another young buck sooner or later. Though… do try for sooner rather than later. No man wants an old maid, you know.”

“Grandmother!”

“A push-up bra, that’s my advice. You know what they say about flies and honey.”

Lyanna cannot stay here and listen to this. She has not had nearly enough alcohol to put up with that. Hells, there might not _be_ enough alcohol in the world for her to tolerate the rest of that conversation. Especially considering she was already _wearing_ a push-up bra… Lya left her grandma there, without excusing herself, and made straight for the open bar. “I need a shot. I don’t care what, just give me whatever you’ve got.”

The girl working the bar gives her a single look and starts pouring the tequila. Lyanna downs it quickly, not even stopping to bother with the salt and lime, and requests another. Three shots later and the world begins to blur. She’s got enough of a buzz now that she’s come around, it able to shut up the voices in her head, the one that keeps saying that this should’ve been her and Robert, she should be the one in the white dress, unable to keep from kissing her new husband for more than ten seconds, and a weird, second voice that’s joined the first, one which sounds uncannily like Grandma Arya, just repeating the phrases _‘push-up bra’_ and _‘old maid’_ over and over again. But thank gods for tequila, right, and she is able to put that behind her and finally _enjoy_ the party.

She stumbles onto the dance floor, enthusiastically joins the younger kids as the DJ plays the _Electric Slide_ , manages to tease Brandon as he sways to a slow song with his girlfriend… whose name Lya can’t remember, but hells, Brandon probably can’t either, she thinks with a harsh giggle. She even consents to another couple of dances with that groomsman from before. Or maybe, it was a different one of Benjen’s friends, she can’t be bothered to try to tell them apart just now. It’s not like it matters, he’s not going to be the love of her life. He’s not even going to be the love of her night, even though he _clearly_ has other ideas, considering the way his hand keeps slipping down to grab her ass. She should tell him off for that, a more sober Lyanna would tell him off, but she’s not in a place to reject a bit of attention just now. She may not have much in the way of tits, but her ass seems to be honey enough for this fly. _You proud now, Gran?_

However, her happy, delirious bubble is abruptly burst when the track changes. She hears those opening beats and her stomach quickly ties itself into knots. Dacey comes to the center of the floor while all the men take a step back and _Single Ladies_ stares blaring from the speakers. Lyanna quickly turns away, intending to make for the bar or maybe to hide in the bathroom until this disgusting display is over, but damn it, Dacey grabs her by the hand and sets her right in the center of the crowd of unmarried women, all laughing giddily as they pull her into their rank. “It’s supposed to be _fun_ , Lya, come on!”

Lyanna doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to be fun, this superstitious nonsense, but, whatever. Whatever, she can stand here for thirty seconds to appease her best friend. However, when Dacey turns her back to the women and prepares to throw the bouquet, the crowd around her suddenly disperses. Lyanna’s inebriated mind doesn’t understand what’s happening, aren’t they all supposed to fight for the stupid flowers? But then it hits her. Literally. The bouquet collides with her face and falls into her arms and Dacey is there, grinning idiotically and telling her, “you’re next!” and that’s the moment Lyanna realizes she’d been set up. The other women never even tried to catch the stupid thing, Dacey must’ve asked them to let Lyanna have it, for some fucking... stupid reason. _To embarrass me in front of my entire godsdamn family_ . To remind the world that she’s tragically alone and about as far away from marriage as she’s ever been. Lyanna swallows her scream and forces herself to smile for Dacey, but as soon as the men begin to gather for the garter toss, she takes off. She cannot stand to be here another second, not in this crowd of women, not with her family, not at this wedding reception. She makes a beeline for the door, making only the briefest of stops at the bar to steal a bottle of whiskey, full and unopened. _Jackpot._

It’s colder now than it was during the ceremony and the sun went down hours ago, but she would rather be out here freezing her tail off than be back in there, where everyone’s feeling sorry for poor, lonely, _single_ Lyanna Stark. It’s not fair, it’s not like it’s some curse to be alone. It’s not like there’s something fundamentally _wrong_ with her because she’s not in a relationship. It’s just that… how the fuck is she even supposed to _try_ when she knows that nothing will ever compare to what she had? And if she couldn’t make it work with Robert, if she couldn’t say yes to marrying _him_ , then, well, “I guess I’m just going to die an old maid,” she shouts to the empty parking lot. She feels tears start to prickle at the her eyes, and that, that is absolutely unacceptable.

She tears the cork out of the bottle with her teeth and takes a large swallow. The whiskey burns as it goes down, a fire inside her that staves off the chill of the night. It almost hurts, but that’s good, it’s fitting, because everything else hurts right about now. Her head hurts, and her heart hurts, her feet hurt… At least that last one she can do something about. She kicks off her heels, letting them fly off into the dark. She overpaid for those stupid shoes because they went with the dumb dress that Dacey picked out for all her bridesmaids, but price be damned, she was glad to see them go. It’s probably a bad idea to walk around here barefoot, there’s got to be rocks or broken glass somewhere, but the cool pavement feels good against her toes, and besides, her backup sneakers are somewhere in her hotel room.

She doesn’t know how long she stays out there, walking lopsided circles on the pavement, swaying dizzily to the faint echoes of music emanating from the building, but she likes it. Prefers the quiet of the night. No one out here cares if she’s married or not. She could’ve stayed out here all night, probably would have, if someone hadn’t stumbled out the door just then. Brandon, sneaking away for a smoke. A bad habit he picked up in high school, and somehow had kept a secret from their parents all these years. Lyanna watches him light up and take a long drag and _damn_ , Lyanna almost asks him for one herself. Which is the moment she realizes that she well and truly drunk. She only ever smokes when she’s drunk. But she can’t. For one thing, Brandon would surely rat her out to Mom, the hypocrite, and secondly, he would try to talk her back inside and she was _not_ ready for that. She decides rather quickly that she won’t ever be ready for it, that the evening’s been a bust. She has made an appearance, congratulated both bride and groom and all she wants now is to go back to her room, maybe soak in a hot bubble bath and sleep till two in the afternoon.

She slips away before Brandon can spot her and calls for a car to come pick her up. The gods are smiling on her, _finally_ , because it comes quickly and Brandon doesn’t see her sneak away. Lya throws the bouquet into the back seat, she hadn’t even realized she was still holding on to the thing, before climbing in after it. “You, sir, are my hero right now,” she slurs at the driver.

“That’s what they all say. So where to, doll?”

She thinks for a moment, struggles to recall the name of the hotel she’d checked into but in that single momentary lull, she hears a sound, a gentle tune humming from the car’s radio. And _of course_ , it’s this song. That’s exactly how this whole day has gone, so yeah, she is wholly unsurprised to hear the words:

> _My featherbed is deep and soft,_
> 
> _and there I'll lay you down,_
> 
> _I'll dress you all in yellow silk,_
> 
> _and on your head a crown._

_It’s our song._ The song she and Robert had declared to represent the whole of their relationship. How many _hundreds_ of times had Robert sung this song to her, hummed it when they danced in their living room, whispered it in her ear as they lay in bed together at night, _and you my forest lass._ With that, all thoughts of hotels and bubble baths leave her head. She knows where it is she wants to go now.

“Uh, Storm’s End. Can you take me to Storm’s End?”

“That’s pretty far from here. You sure about that?”

Lyanna nods. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She gives him the address, amazed that she can even remember it in her state, but she knows that she got it right. “The tip’ll be worth it. Promise.”

“Whatever you say.”

They don’t talk much more beyond that, they ride in silence. For anyone else, the hour long ride would’ve sober them up a bit, maybe give them time to rethink showing up on their ex’s doorstep in the middle of the night, but anyone else wouldn’t have brought the whiskey along with them. But this whiskey was too good to leave behind, no, Rickard Stark only ever bought the best. Lyanna kept taking swigs straight from the bottle whenever she felt that alcoholic haze start to fade. Liquid courage and all that.

It feels like no time at all before the car stops outside Robert’s house. For a moment, she thinks it’s the wrong place, this is not the apartment where they lived together, but that’s right, it wouldn’t be… He moved not long after she broke up with him. Couldn’t bare to stay alone in the home they used to share, no more than she could. “Thanks for the lift. I, uhm, there’s a card in there, somewhere. Take one,” Lya says, tossing her purse toward him and stumbling out the door, though she does make sure to grab the bottle, and, on an inexplicable impulse, the flowers as well.

She considers it quite the accomplishment that she is able to make it up the steps of his porch, there were an unreasonable number of them, without tripping over the skirt of her dress. There is not even the briefest moment of hesistation as she tucks the whiskey bottle under her arm so that she make knock –more of a pound, really– on the front door.

She hears someone shuffling around on the other sided, a muffled voice calling, “Pizza’s here.” Then the door swings open, and– It’s him. Looking just as good as he ever had, even in his sweatpants and threadbare t-shirt. Lyanna manages to smile for him, a small wave.

“Hi, Robert.”

“Lyanna…”

 _Well, knock me down with a feather_ . That’s the only think she can think of to describe the expression on his face. Like he’s seen a ghost. And isn’t that exactly what’s happening, in a way? A ghost from the past appearing on his doorstep. “Hi…” she repeats. She came all this way, _needed_ to see him just so badly, and yet now that he stands before her, it’s like every word that she’s ever learned has vanished from her brain completely.

“...You, uh… you look good, Lyanna. What’s–” He waves a hand limply at her, gesturing from head to toe. “What’s with that dress?”

“You like it? Yellow silk, like our song,” Lya picks up the skirt and twirls in a circle, giving him the full effect. “Dacey picked it out. We all had to wear it.”

“Who all?”

“Us bridesmaids. Me and Alysane and Lyra–”

“Ah, Benjen’s wedding.”

She snaps her fingers, points at him. “That’s right.”

“I forgot that was today.” Her confusion must be apparent, becaue he quickly clarifies, “Ned told me about it.”

“Oh.” She forgets sometimes that Ned and Robert are still friends. It’s not something she and her brother ever talk about. It’s easier that way, to pretend they made a clean break.

“...Why aren’t you there, at the reception? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with them?”

“I was celebrating. See? Caught the bouquet and everything.” Lyanna waggles the flowers under his nose and laughs when he sneezes. He smiles for a brief second, _that beautiful smile_ , before it disappears, leaving Lyanna to wonder if maybe she imagined it.

“You shouldn’t be here, Lya.”

“But I am here. Are you going to send me away?”

He doesn’t hesistate at all before answering, “No.”

“Good, because I wasn’t gunna go anyway.” She crosses her arms and lets herself fall backwards into one of the patio chairs.

Robert heaves a sigh and takes the seat next to her. He only sits for a moment, though, before he curses loudly, “Fuck, it’s freezing out here.”

“’m not cold,” she argues, just for the sake of arguing with him.

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. –How do you know I’m drunk?”

“Because you’re not wearing any shoes. You always take your shoes off when you’re drunk.”

“They hurt my feet,” she defends weakly.

“Come on, let’s get you inside before you get hypothermia.” He takes her by the wrist –suddenly, she can’t breath and she’s sure her heart’s stopped beating– and leads her inside.

“Bob, where’s the food?” A voice from the room adjacent calls out as soon as the door closes behind them. “You were out there forever, I swear if you let my pizza get cold–”

“Bob?” Lyanna whispers with a giggle, remembering just how much he _hated_ that nickname when she knew him. To her surprise, though, he doesn’t correct the speaker.

“I was wrong, it wasn’t the food,” _Bob_ replies.

“Then who was at the door?” Lyanna catches sight of the source of the voice then, a man around Robert’s age, as he lifts himself off the sofa in the living room and crosses over to where they stand in the entryway. “Why, hello there. Who is this lovely creature?” The stranger leans against the doorframe and looks her up and down with a predatory grin.

He backs off, however, when Robert responds with a low growl, “My ex.”

He doesn’t wait for the other man to reply, he simply tightens his grip on her arm and pulls her down the hall to a bedroom. _His bedroom_ . A different house, but somehow this space is still amazingly familiar. The same old blankets are spread across the bed, the furniture in just the same arrangement as it had been before. Even the photos and trinkets on the shelves, all the just as they had been at their apartment. The only thing missing was evidence of _her_ , the pictures they took together, the little pewter wolf she’d given him to match the deer he had, her jewelry box which used to be right there on top of the dresser. It’s like the worst case of déjà vu or some alternate unverise where she never existed.

“Who was that guy?”

“Richard? He’s no one, just my roommate.”

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.”

“Not to be rude, Lyanna, but you don’t know anything about my life anymore.”

Lyanna flinches at that, at the bite in his tone, but she cannot say he’s wrong. After she moved out, she maded a conscious effort not to keep up with him. Deleted his phone number, and removed him from social media, the whole nine yards. She didn’t want to lie to him, or herself, and pretend as if they could remain friends after everything they’d been through. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be. I just– you caught me offguard, is all.”

“Yeah, me too,” Lya admits and plops down on the bed. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Why did you come here?”

“Because Grandma Arya asked about you,” she says, even though that’s not an answer, not really. Lyanna huffs, and fiddles with the bouquet of flowers she still can’t manage to let go off, and tries, _tries_ to say what it is that’s on her mind, because this is the exact reason they broke up, isn’t it? The words she said and what she meant, they were two completely different things and it was that misunderstanding which ruined them. “I- I thought about you a lot today. Kind of couldn’t _stop_ thinking about you and–”

“Gods, I am not drunk enough for this conversation.” Robert presses a fist against his forhead and turns toward the door. For half a heartbeat, she thinks he’s about to leave and she cannot let him go, not when she has so much she wants to say, if only she could spit it out.

“Robert, wait.” She leaps off the bed and grabs at his arm, to pull him back to her, to stop him, _anything_. But the moment she touches him, he jerks away.

“Lyanna, you’re _freezing_ .” He takes her hands in his and tries to rub some warmth into them. Honestly, Lya barely feels the cold, but where Robert touches her, she’s burning. It’s not until he drops his hands that the cold hits her, suddenly, all at once, and she finds herself shivering. It’s instinctual, muscle memory, that has her reaching under the pillows of his bed for the hoodie she _knows_ he has stored under there. That, at least, has not changed. She is rewarded for her efforts and she cannot stop the silly grin that spreads across her face when she sees which sweatshirt she’s found. It’d been her favorite one, the one Robert’s had since high school, worn in and well loved, but still warm and so, so soft. She doesn’t even think twice before slipping it over her head. _That’s better_.

“Does anybody know you’re here?” Robert asks her, watching her as she gets up to wander the room.

“Mm, I don’t think so. I didn’t tell anyone.” She looks at the photos he’s hung on the wall, tries to figure out what was important enough to replace her with. A photograph of his parents when they were young, well, that was appropriate, and _gods_ , Cassana had been so pretty… It was a shame she never had a daughter to pass those genes to. And there was another one of Robert and Ned at some concert, a recent picture it must be, because Ned’s got his wedding ring on. She didn’t remember that, Ned never told her about going to a show with Robert, and that makes her turn away. She’d never thought about that before, about how her break up with Robert had affected her relationship with her brother, when they used to be so close. What other things hasn’t Ned told her about?

“I should call Ned… Let someone know you’re safe.”

“Oh, don’t bother him. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. He knows that.”

“Lyannna–”

But she cuts him off with a shake of her head and moves on to inspect his chest of drawers. She’s not sure exactly what it is she’s looking for, just lets herself get washed away in the familiarity of this all, of _Robert_. How many times had she gone through his wardrobe before, stealing his t-shirts and boxer shorts because they were more comfortable than any of the pajamas she owned. _Oh, that sounds so good right about now._ She’s been in this dress, _in this godsawful_ _bra_ , since early this morning. She pulls her arms in through the sleeves of hoodie so that she can get at the zipper of her dress.  

It’s not until she pushes the silk down over her hips that Robert realizes what she’s doing. “Seven hells, Lyanna!” he shouts, sprinting across the room and grabbing her arms to prevent her from undressing further. “You’ve got to keep your clothes on.”

“Why?” She asks innocently, even as she shimmies her hips, sending the dress the rest of the way to the floor. “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“That– that was when we were dating. We’re not together anymore. You can’t just show up here and take off your clothes and steal my shit.”

She scowls at that and shoves him away from her. “You make it sound like I’m some crazy naked burglar. I’m not ‘stealing your shit’,” she says with air quotes. “I just want to get warm.” Lyanna moves past him, dives straight for the second drawer of his dresser where she knows she still keeps his boxers and oh _, a pair of wool socks, yes!_

She sits on the floor as she sifts through the articles available. _When did he get so much plaid?_ The Robert she knew had been a man of solid colored underwear. Lyanna picks a pair of shorts but as she rifles through the pile of socks, she makes a discovery that sobers her up in an instant.

A small, black velvet box, tucked away in the back corner. _A ring box._ Lyanna abandons her search for socks and pulls it out. She’s knows exactly what’s inside, can still remember every detail, and yet some masochistic impluse insists she look anyway. It opens with a soft pop, and it’s like she’s transported to that night two years ago, and she can hear her own voice echoing across time. _“No, no, Robert, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t be doing this now. Are you serious?”_

“...You still have my ring?”

“It’s not your ring,” he says darkly. He pulls the box from her hand, shuts it with a snap and shoves it deep into the pocket of his sweats.

“You bought it for me.”

“You rejected it.”

“Why do you still have it?” There’s only one answer, isn’t there? Why he would hold on to that painful momento, rather than selling it back. Why the ring, when he held on to nothing else from their relationship... “Do you still–”

“No,” he cuts her off. Too quickly to be believable. He’s defensive.

Lyanna stands up, and tries to catch his eye, but he won’t look at her. Even when she puts her hand on his cheek, pulls his face towards hers, he fights back by shutting his eyes. “Robert.”

His hands comes up to hers, rests around her wrist for just a moment before he pulls her away from him. Robert paces to the other side of the room, putting the bed between them, just about as far away from her as he can get. “We are not talking about this.”

“Don’t you think we should?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“But you still have my ring.”

“Not your ring.”

“But you still have it.”

“So fucking what? So what if I still have the bloody ring? What was I supposed to do, throw it out?”

“You threw out everything else,” Lya says, gesturing wildly about the room. “There’s not– not a single scrap of me anywhere.”

“I don’t make a habit of keeping trophies from ex-girlfriends.”

“I’m not saying you should have a shrine or whatever, but gods, you, you even got rid of the lamp!” She points to his bedside table, bare save for his tablet and an empty bottle of beer, some loose change. “It was six dollars at a flea market. It was a cheap fucking lamp I bought because we needed a light. There is no way you had any sentimental attachments to that thing.”

“Tell me, Lyanna, what would I find of me in your room then, huh?”

“Uh– a lot of stuff, I don’t know.” She takes a moment to think it over, because she knows there’s something. Sure, there were a lot of Robert reminders that she had boxed up and shoved under her bed to forget about, but not _everything_ . She hadn’t scoured her home of every memory of him. She’s not _heartless_. “The sword you bought for me at the renaissance fair! It’s still hanging on the wall over my bed. And, and that keychain you gave me, with the bottle opener on it, because you were tired of always having to open my drinks for me.”

“The fuck, why are we fighting about this? You broke up with me two years ago. _Two years_. I haven’t seen you once since then. Now suddenly, you show up at my door in the middle of the night, looking like a knockout and drunk off your ass, and I still don’t know why you’re here.”

 _“Because it should’ve been us.”_ Now that the words are out there, she can’t take them back. So she presses on. “It should have been us today, getting married. Me and you.”

“No.” Not a disagreement, but a command. “No, we are not doing this.”

“It should have been us,” she repeats forcefully. She moves close to him, walking on her knees across the bed to get to him. “It should have been us, and you think so too. I know you do.”

He catches her before she can reach him, though, puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her an arm’s length away. “I am not talking about this, Lyanna. I mean it. We are not having this conversation. You can stay here tonight, I don’t care, but this– we’re not doing this.”

“Only if you can look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

He does look at her then, his deep blue eyes that had always been bright and full of laughter before now seem… almost dull. Impossibly tired. “You’re not wrong, Lya. Of course I think it should’ve been us. I’m the one who _wanted_ to get married, remember?”

“I wanted to get married.”

She sees the spark in his eyes then, catches the way his nostrils flare. His fingers dig into her arms just a moment before he pushes her away from him. A sober Lyanna would’ve caught herself, remained upright, but as she is still much less than sober, she falls immediately backwards on to the bed. “Hey!”

“Don’t lie!”

“It’s true!” She struggles to sit up as the whole world seems to spin around her, but she manages. “I loved you, Robert.”

“How can you look at me and say that? Do you not remember what happened?”

“I remember just fine. I–”

“I proposed to you! I asked you to marry me and you said no. You broke my fucking heart, Lya!”

“You think you’re the only one who had their heart broken that night?”

“Heh, yeah, I do, actually. _You broke up with me_.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t want to break up with you.”

“I’m sorry, but correct me if I’m remembering this wrong, but you said the words, ‘I want to break up’.”

“But I didn’t mean that!”

“Am I supposed to be some kind of mindreader? How in the hells was I supposed to know that?”

“You weren’t. I– I misspoke.”

“You misspoke.” He deadpans. “You misspoke, what, for hours? Days? Were you having some kind of fit, Lyanna?”

Lyanna groans in frustration. “No. You’re not understanding me.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

She closes her eyes and tries to focus, _focus_ through the alcoholic haze clouding her mind, cut through the anxieties and the panic to find the words for what she really feels. She knows that this, this is it. This is her second chance, the only one he will give her. If she fucks up again, she will never see Robert again.

“...I wasn’t expecting you to propose when you did.”

“Isn’t that part of the romance? Being surprised.”

“No, Robert, just… let me finish.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, and even though she wants to look away, it’s so hard to do this when he’s _looking_ at her like that, she can’t. “I wasn’t expecting you to propose. We hadn’t talked about it before. I didn’t know how to react.”

“I think most people say yes,” Robert says.

“No, see, that’s the thing. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but it was too soon. We’d only been living together for six months. You were moving too fast for me.”

“We could’ve had a long engagement. I wasn’t trying to march you down the aisle that day.”

“I know. I know, but I saw the ring, and you on bended knee, and I just– I panicked a bit, okay? I panicked and I said no.”

“When you meant to say yes.”

“No. I meant to say no.”

“I’m confused. You just said–”

“I meant to say, not now. I should have told you that I wasn’t ready for this step, but I love you and I know that if you gave me some time, I would get there. I would’ve said yes if you’d asked me a year from then. But, I said no. And I didn’t know how to work backwards from that. How do you reject a marriage proposal but stay in the relationship? That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t know.”

Lyanna looks up at him, watches his face, looking for any hint of his feelings. It hurts, all of this, it still _hurts_ because none of this was ever supposed to happen. She can see he feels it too. The way his lips twitch downward, the clench of his jaw and the redness of his eyes. He is hurting, yes, but he hasn’t walked away. He’s still listening. Good. That means they’re not over yet.

“I didn’t want to break up with you. But you heard ‘no,’ and you thought I was rejecting _you._ You were upset and I was still on panic mode and you wanted answers, an explanation, but that just made it worse and I said– what I said, even though that's not what I wanted at all. And once it was out there, I couldn't take it back. I spent _months_ trying to convince myself that I did the right thing, but then today. At the wedding. I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I wanted to be there with you. And I had to stop lying to myself that I was okay without you, because I'm not. I'm not okay and I need you and I miss you. Robert, I love you.”

Lyanna throws herself forward, one arm catches around Robert’s neck as she pulls herself against him, crashing her lips against his. And Robert, _thank the gods,_ Robert responds almost immediately. One hand comes up to cradle her jaw, his thumb toying with her earring, while the other is splayed across her lower back, keeping her against him. Just the way they’d always fit together before, like nothing at all has changed.

Except it has changed. She knows that, can no longer ignore it as she tries to push further, as she tries to tug Robert down on the bed with her. He resists her, where he had only ever been eager before, and the very instant her tongue slips past his lips, he pulls away. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk.”

“You still taste like whiskey.”

“Okay, I’m drunk. So what?”

“So I don’t want this to be something you regret in the morning.”

“I’ve never regretted being with you.”

“I meant… all of this. Lyanna, I get it, weddings are emotional, particularly when you’re not with someone. Always gets you thinking about the ‘what might have been’s and you start thinking that maybe things were better than they were.”

“No, no, Robert, this isn’t like that.”

“I want to believe that. You have no idea how much I want to believe that. But I can’t, not when you’re like this.”

“ _I love you, Robert,”_ she says again, forcefully, sincerely. _I have to convince him._ “I love you, I loved you from the very first time you kissed me. I loved you then, I love you still. This isn’t the alcohol talking and it’s not about the wedding. It’s about the fact that I should have said yes to you before.”

“Lya…”

“If you were to ask me again, I’d say yes this time.”

Robert takes her hands in his and holds them fast against his chest, allowing to feel the rapid beating of his heart. He closes his eyes and for a brief moment, she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he only rests his forehead against hers and says softly, _“Tell me this when you’re sober.”_


End file.
